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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27169273">Lud says, "Hi." (Jinx!)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/'>Anonymous</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Hetalia: Axis Powers</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Also It's Feliciano/Lud/Alfred In That Order, Brief Mentions of Gilbert Antonio Francis and Arthur, But They're Not Important Here, Established Relationship, Feliciano Has Standards, Feliciano Thinks This Is Hilarious, Ludwig and Alfred Just Don't Know How To Deal With Thinking Someone Is Hot, Ludwig's Never-ending Internal Monologue., M/M, Multi, Other, They're Not Poly, Threesome - M/M/M, Without Wanting To Date Them</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-07 01:16:48</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>9,029</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27169273</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Ludwig and Alfred are friends, now. This is a fairly recent development. Ludwig supposes you don't just get drunk and cry in front of someone circa the West Berlin-era for a few decades without becoming their friend. But, uh. Ludwig isn't particularly great at the whole friendship thing, and emotions are--confusing?</p>
<p>The last time he experienced anything close to this was when he succumbed to the emotions of his citizens and couldn’t stop thinking about Hasselhoff for a week. Hasselhoff. And he had even come clean to Feliciano about that. The feeling went away rather quickly after Feliciano laughed so hard he cried and choked on the wine he was drinking. Horribly rude. Deeply embarrassing. Very effective, however. Didn’t feel a thing when Night Rocker played anymore, thank God.</p>
<p>(Please forgive me for the Golden Rule joke title. I don't know what else to call it, but I think I'm funny and that's what matters.)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>America/Germany (Hetalia), America/Germany/North Italy (Hetalia), Germany/North Italy (Hetalia)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>47</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Anonymous</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Lud says, "Hi." (Jinx!)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The way that Ludwig felt about Alfred was completely different from Feliciano. It certainly wasn’t love, he realized, after several thought experiments that involved him replacing Feliciano with Alfred in his daily life. Fried food for most meals, arguing over how eco-friendly his vehicles were, his inability to admit when he was wrong, the </span>
  <em>
    <span>laugh…</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Horrible. Yes, definitely not love. But then, what was it? Because try as Ludwig might, he couldn’t shake the thought of--well, he couldn’t even say it out loud, even if it was in the inside of his mind. He doubted the others got hung up on emotions like this. The thought of Francis weighing pros and cons before sleeping with someone was laughable at best. But the only time Ludwig had ever felt these emotions was with Feliciano, and he loved Feliciano dearly. Alfred...Alfred was just a good friend. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He had remained celibate for decades willingly. There was just no appeal in sleeping with some random citizen, or another nation, for that matter. Part of this could be Gilbert’s fault. He was always very overprotective and had a habit of dramatizing the woes of premarital sex to Ludwig, and considering he</span>
  <em>
    <span> couldn’t</span>
  </em>
  <span> be married--well, it was best to just forget about it. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Obviously that changed when Feliciano came around. Ludwig was so overcome with emotion--love, adoration, loyalty, </span>
  <em>
    <span>lust</span>
  </em>
  <span>?--that he had immediately jumped the gun and proposed on their first date. Considering he only felt one or two of those emotions for Alfred on a good day, and he most certainly wasn’t about to go out and buy a ring shaped like a hamburger, it was safe to say this wasn’t a romantic attraction. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Ludwig shudders. Attraction? He supposes he should get over himself and use that word now. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Feliciano handled these things differently. They had talked about this before, usually in bed, snuggled up together. There was only one other time Feliciano had felt similarly to how he felt about Ludwig, he admitted, but then--it was sort of just Ludwig </span>
  <em>
    <span>anyway</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and he was rather young at the time, so the feelings weren’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>exactly </span>
  </em>
  <span>the same. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Always polar opposite to Ludwig, however, Feliciano </span>
  <em>
    <span>had</span>
  </em>
  <span> tried to sleep with random citizens the past few centuries. None of them fully successful. He had managed a hand job here or there, a quick make-out session, some fully clothed heavy-touching...but nothing serious, and certainly nothing long term. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Ludwig can’t even begin to imagine doing anything like that. Strangers were terrifying. Being emotionally vulnerable and indecent in front of strangers? Absolutely not.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Of course, it was also terrifying to be emotionally vulnerable in front of your friends, but Ludwig supposed he had been doing that for decades now. Alfred had pushed his way into his life around the same time the wall went up. Maybe it was out of pity, or remorse. Maybe Alfred, despite what they all were, was just a good person. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Either way, he had spent far too many nights drunkenly sobbing in front of him to consider him an acquaintance. So. That was that. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Despite their friendship, and despite being haunted by his improper thoughts, however, Ludwig didn’t see it necessary to, er--fill Alfred in on any of this. He could handle it like he handled everything else. By bottling it up and talking about it to absolutely no one.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Well, okay. And by picking up one of those horrible romance novels that bears a striking resemblance to his...er, situation. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>…</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>And, er, well, it was also--there was also modern technology now. Easily accessible, uh, informative videos--about--well, about--</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>…</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He can’t do this. The last time he experienced anything close to this was when he succumbed to the emotions of his citizens and couldn’t stop thinking about Hasselhoff for a week. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Hasselhoff. </span>
  </em>
  <span>And he had even come clean to Feliciano about </span>
  <em>
    <span>that. </span>
  </em>
  <span>The feeling went away rather quickly after Feliciano laughed so hard he cried and choked on the wine he was drinking. Horribly rude. Deeply embarrassing. Very effective, however. Didn’t feel a thing when Night Rocker played anymore, thank God.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>So he tells Feliciano. Well, more accurately, he muffles it into a pillow one night after they’ve just had sex, because nothing prys your soul open quite like having sex, and Feliciano just barely hears him--</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Um. I’m not sure I heard that right,” Feliciano turns over to face him, “You--something about Alfred--?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Ludwig can feel the heat rush to his ears. He mumbles it again, a little louder. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Feliciano is silent for a moment. Ludwig lifts his head just enough to see the expression on his face. His eyebrows sure are up there. He blinks. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Huh,” Feliciano says, leaning back against the headboard, “Can’t, um--can’t say I was expecting that.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Well, this is mortifying. Ludwig rushes to explain himself. “It’s not--I don’t have </span>
  <em>
    <span>feelings </span>
  </em>
  <span>for him or anything--I’m not--I would never--”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I know, I know,” Feliciano sighs, and brushes Ludwig’s hair from his forehead, “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Mio Dio,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Lud, you sure are repressed--can’t you have normal celebrity crushes? Do they always have to have some kind of emotional connection--”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Ludwig decides to ignore the implication that Alfred counts as a celebrity. (He </span>
  <em>
    <span>was </span>
  </em>
  <span>in a couple Times Square ads...did that...count? Ugh.) Or..that he had an emotional connection to Hasselhoff? Both were unkind.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Feliciano slips an arm around his waist as he settles into the bed, “So...what’re you going to do about it?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Huh? Er,” Ludwig didn’t particularly think the conversation would last this long, “Nothing? I--I thought I would feel better if I said it out loud...rather than...you know. My usual way of dealing with things.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He closes his eyes for a moment. A very obnoxious laugh cuts through his thoughts. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Jesus. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Ludwig shakes his head. Terrifying how Alfred’s personality was </span>
  <em>
    <span>also </span>
  </em>
  <span>capable of providing a plethora of cold showers. What was </span>
  <em>
    <span>wrong </span>
  </em>
  <span>with him?</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Hmm,” Feliciano cocks an eyebrow, “Do you feel better, then?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Uh,” Ludwig thinks about that for a minute, “Hm. I don’t know.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Well,” Feliciano says, “I can’t say I really get it. I mean, I like Alfred, but, um...he’s...how do I say this nicely--”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Obnoxious.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Well--”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Arrogant.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Sometimes--”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Irritating.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay,” Feliciano puts a hand over his mouth, “That’s not being nice about it. You </span>
  <em>
    <span>are </span>
  </em>
  <span>friends, yanno. It’s not </span>
  <em>
    <span>his </span>
  </em>
  <span>fault you’re being a weirdo about this.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Ludwig grumbles against him. Something that sounds a lot like “I’m not being a weirdo,” and makes Feliciano laugh. His hand slides back down to Ludwig’s waist, and he pulls him in tight. He yawns, “Well...if you’re still not over it, maybe you should say something to him? Actually...knowing you, he’d probably have to drag your unconscious body back home--”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I--why would I say something to him? It’s not--this isn’t like a--I want to reiterate, I do not have romantic feelings for him--”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I knooow,” Feliciano says, “But maybe you just need to embarrass yourself in front of him to get over it. Or maybe just watch him real close when he eats a Big Mac at lunch next time we have a meeting.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Ludwig sighs, burying his face into Feliciano’s shoulder, “Maybe.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You gotta do </span>
  <em>
    <span>something </span>
  </em>
  <span>though,” Feliciano yawns again, “Because I know you. If you don’t just figure out how to get it out of your system you’re gonna develop some kinda complex, and then Erzsi will have to hear me yelling into the phone about how you want me to put a blond wig on and recite the, um, weird flag thing he does at his house, or whatever. I do have </span>
  <em>
    <span>some </span>
  </em>
  <span>dignity left.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t think you need to worry about that,” Ludwig scoffs.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Mmh,” Feliciano doesn’t sound convinced, “Well, considering I’m the only person you’ve ever felt comfortable fucking--”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Gott--”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m just saying! Quit being weird about it,” Feliciano closes his eyes, and chuckles, “I mean, I guess you could always ask him to join us. Promise I’ll hold your hand the whole time, </span>
  <em>
    <span>pasticcino.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He rolls over, mumbling a quick “goodnight,” before drifting off to sleep. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Ludwig blinks at the back of his head. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Join us. Join us?</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Feliciano was probably kidding. Right? Absolutely. Yes. Definitely kidding. Why did he say that? As if it wasn’t bad enough--Ludwig feels like screaming. In the grand scheme of things--in the grand scheme of nationhood, really, a threesome was probably the most vanilla thing that almost all the nations </span>
  <em>
    <span>he </span>
  </em>
  <span>knew participated in--but </span>
  <em>
    <span>they </span>
  </em>
  <span>weren’t like that. Right? </span>
  <em>
    <span>Right?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Whatever. It was fine. Ludwig would--he would deal with this, eventually. Maybe with electroshock therapy, or by hitting himself over the head a few times. Who knows.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>xxxx</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A couple of weeks go by after their conversation. Uneventful weeks. Unless your definition of eventful is Feliciano looking at him as if he’s about to turn into a bug before planting a kiss on his forehead anyway. Horrible.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The meeting is in Berlin this month. For Ludwig, this means hosting far more people at his home than preferred, but maybe that’s what he needs to get his mind off this situation. He had even suggested, through an email sent at the wholly inappropriate and hopefully unnoticed time of three in the morning, that a few of them regroup at his home afterwards for a few drinks and finger food. Feliciano read the email from his phone over coffee the following afternoon with raised eyebrows, but said nothing. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Only a few took Ludwig’s offer. There was Francis, Antonio, and Arthur, who were excitedly chatting with Gilbert, sipping wine and snacking on the cheese dip Gilbert had enthusiastically whipped up the night before. And then...Alfred. Sitting on the end of the couch. Uncharacteristically quiet </span>
  <em>
    <span>and </span>
  </em>
  <span>drinking. Strange.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Sooo,” Feliciano says, bumping into him at the kitchen sink, “You gonna talk to him?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He wiggles his eyebrows. Ludwig rolls his eyes, “Quit that. You make it sound so nefarious.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Feliciano tucks a hand into Ludwig’s back-pocket, “It doesn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>have </span>
  </em>
  <span>to be..besides, he looks so sad over there. I mean, I wouldn’t wanna be sitting over there either. I don’t even </span>
  <em>
    <span>wanna </span>
  </em>
  <span>know what they could be talking about.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Ludwig peers through the doorway. He had only known Alfred to drink cheap beer, and very rarely, but there he was, glass of wine nearly gone. And then--Feliciano leans into the living room. “Alfred, come here for a second. Lud needs help opening a jar.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh--oh, sure!” Alfred leaps from his seat so fast he nearly topples over, “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Whoa</span>
  </em>
  <span>--coming!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He slides into the kitchen, socks slipping on the tile floor. It’s almost cute. Well, no. It </span>
  <em>
    <span>is</span>
  </em>
  <span> cute. Ludwig can admit that, at least. Feliciano goes to mimic him and then realizes he’s wearing houseshoes. A shame. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Where’s the jar? Is it pickles? I haven’t gotten my jar from Gilbert this year, and they were really good last year--”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It’s like the floodgates have opened. Alfred really must’ve been suffering over there. Ludwig sighs, “There is no jar, Alfred.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Huh? But...”Alfred glances at Feliciano, “Didn’t you say--”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I tricked you,” Feliciano sticks out his tongue, “I’m sorry if you were really excited about opening a jar. You just looked like you were having a horrible time out there.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Ooh,” Alfred says, “Thanks. They, uh...you know how Arthur and Francis are. Not really my kind of conversation. At least, not with them.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, they’re gross,” Feliciano says, refilling Alfred’s glass of wine without asking, “D’you need a snack or anything? We could make you something if you’re still hungry.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“No, no, I’m fine,” Alfred says, staring apprehensively at the glass, “Geez, I really don’t drink wine unless it’s a holiday. I don’t know how y’all do this on the regular.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Feliciano shrugs, taking a sip of his own, “Ludwig’s not so good at handling his wine either. Remember that time at the Christmas market when Gilbert made you drink like four cups of mulled wine in one sitting, and then we got in trouble because </span>
  <em>
    <span>somebody</span>
  </em>
  <span> was getting handsy in the ferris wheel--”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Hush, you,” Ludwig says, turning pink, “Alfred just escaped hearing about God knows what in the other room. I doubt he wants to hear about that.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Alfred laughs, “I don’t mind. They’re on a whole other level. And also my parents. Don’t think you want to hear about what your brother gets up to when you’re not around, right?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“No, and yet somehow I hear about it regardless,” Ludwig sighs, pulling up a chair.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Speak of the devil. Gilbert pops his head into the kitchen and grins, “Hey, West--we’re going out for drinks before they head back. You wanna come with?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Alfred blanches. Clearly he’s uninterested. “No, I think we’ll stay in. I’m sure Alfred’s got a plane to catch in the morning,” Ludwig says.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Ach, you old man,” Gilbert snorts, “Felichen, you coming? You can leave the senior citizens at home.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Nah, I’m good here. I’ll walk you guys out though,” Feliciano stands, and plants a kiss on Ludwig’s forehead, “Be right back!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>And then, they’re alone. It’s just then that Ludwig notices how pink Alfred’s face is, though he hasn’t touched any more of his wine. His tolerance isn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> low. Strange.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Um, dude,” Alfred says nervously, “Is there--Is there a reason you’re glaring at me?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Oops. Ludwig clears his throat, and looks away. “Er, no. Just--are you sure you’re alright? You look a little...flushed.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Alfred’s eyes widen, and he somehow manages to get pinker, “Uh...y-yeah, I’m good. It’s, uh, probably just the wine. Or it’s the jetlag. One of the two.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Well. This wasn’t exactly how Ludwig pictured this night going. Not that he actually thought he’d say something to Alfred. In fact, he was almost sure Feliciano was banking on him chickening out and never bringing this up again. But he certainly didn’t picture being trapped in the kitchen with a very flustered looking Alfred sitting across from him. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>…</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Okay, maybe he</span>
  <em>
    <span> did</span>
  </em>
  <span>, but at least not yet.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Alfred, I--”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He nearly jumps out of his chair. “W-What?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Uh,” Ludwig says, “Why don’t you--how early is your flight tomorrow? You’re welcome to say here for the night. You could use the spare room. Just like old times.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Alfred wipes his glasses off on his shirt, “Yeah? But uh--my flight’s not for a few days. Thought I’d hang around Berlin for a bit. It’s been a while.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“It has,” Ludwig finds himself smiling, “I don’t know if you’ve booked a hotel, but you’re more than welcome to stay here for as long as you’d like. It’ll just be you, Feliciano and I tonight. I doubt we’ll see Gilbert before morning.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Something about what he said makes Alfred go completely red. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“U-Uh, where is Feliciano, anyway?” Alfred says, “Shouldn’t he be back in by now?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He </span>
  <em>
    <span>is </span>
  </em>
  <span>taking quite a while, but that isn’t particularly strange. Ludwig can picture poor Feliciano now, forced into an uncomfortable headlock by a buzzed Gilbert who won’t take a hint. “I’m sure he’s fine. Gilbert’s probably holding him up,” Ludwig says, “But, um--listen, before he gets back...there’s something I wanted to tell you.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Alfred, who decided to finally take a drink of his wine just then, sputters. He wipes the wine from his upper lip, and sets the glass down. “Uh, yeah. Actually...there’s something I wanted to tell you, too. B-But, dude, by all means, go first--”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, er,” Ludwig blinks, “No, that’s alright--”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, uh, you--you didn’t want to say it with Feliciano in the room, right?” Alfred says, “You go first.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What? No, he already knows--”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Alfred’s eyes widen, “Already knows </span>
  <em>
    <span>what</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Ludwig groans, “It doesn’t matter--just say what you need to say, Alfred.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh my God,” Alfred covers his face with his hands, “I--listen, you have to believe me when I tell you I don’t have any ulterior motives, okay? This just kind of--it just seems like I should--”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Ludwig nods. This can’t be happening, right? There’s no way they’re both going through the same thing, right? He’s sure any moment now, Alfred’s going to announce something completely stupid. Like, he’s in Berlin because of, who knows, a recent alien sighting and he wants them to come with? That seems up his alley.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Also you have to promise you won’t hate my guts after this.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It could still be aliens, Ludwig tells himself, feeling the blood rushing to his ears. Completely conceivable. Ludwig nods again.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Alfred inhales, “D’you remember that time I was up here, and we went out drinking that one night, and I got completely fucking shitfaced?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“After about four or five beers? Yes.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s not--okay, whatever,” Alfred says, waving a hand, “But, uh, but--when you got me back to the house, do you remember what happened?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I carried you back inside, and you went to bed,” Ludwig says, confused, “That was it.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Alfred’s mouth opens. And then shuts. And then opens again. “What do you mean, that was it?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“That--what’s with that reaction? I don’t remember anything else happening,” Ludwig says, “You went to sleep. Sure, you were a bit difficult about it, but nothing more--”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I tried to kiss you!” Alfred shouts, “Oh my god. Do you seriously not remember this?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“...What?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Alfred groans, loudly, into his hands, “I can’t believe you right now, dude. This has been haunting me for fucking years and you don’t even remember it? Holy shit--”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The hilarious thing, Ludwig thinks, is that he absolutely </span>
  <em>
    <span>would </span>
  </em>
  <span>remember this, had he known about it. In fact, Ludwig was sure it would’ve been one of several scenarios constantly knocking at the door of his subconscious lately. Of course, Alfred doesn’t know this. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“God, I just--I thought maybe we weren’t going to talk about it, because, you know, that was when things between you and Feliciano were--” Alfred’s glancing anxiously at the door, “Weird. And I--</span>
  <em>
    <span>uggggh</span>
  </em>
  <span>--this sucks, man. This is going to sound so stupid, but I--”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Ludwig feels like smoke is pouring from his ears, “You--you thought you had feelings for me?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Alfred slaps himself in the face full-force, and then groans. “Yeah,” he says, meekly, “N-Not that I do! I don’t--I definitely don’t--”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Gee,” Ludwig says, because that’s all he can think to say at the moment.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Alfred takes a deep breath, and straightens himself, “I--I think I just had some weird feelings to work out. I mean, shit was rough, you know? I mean...duh, of course you do--but like, you were the first person outside of my fucked up family I was actually </span>
  <em>
    <span>friends </span>
  </em>
  <span>with. And liked me. Not because you had to. Because you </span>
  <em>
    <span>definitely</span>
  </em>
  <span> didn’t have to.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>This was sounding horribly familiar. “I understand,” Ludwig says, and then adds, “Completely.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, so,” Alfred says, “I just--I guess I just couldn’t figure out if I </span>
  <em>
    <span>liked </span>
  </em>
  <span>you, or if I just wanted to, you know, like, if I was just, um--man, I can’t say this. How the fuck does anyone do this shit?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I was seconds away from telling you almost the exact same thing, and you beat me to it,” Ludwig’s throat feels as if he’s swallowed a handful of cotton balls, “So I think you’re doing just fine.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>There’s silence, then. Alfred doesn’t move. His eyes are still wide, face still red, staring straight ahead at a very fidgety and embarrassed Ludwig. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“...You </span>
  <em>
    <span>what.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I--” Ludwig swallows, “I want to--Alfred, don’t make </span>
  <em>
    <span>me </span>
  </em>
  <span>say it--”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>There’s a manic sort of grin forming on Alfred’s face. And then he laughs. It’s probably nerves. Or, at least, Ludwig hopes it’s nerves, because there is definitely something unhinged about the way Alfred throws his head back and shakes with laughter. He’s either relieved, or Ludwig’s about to get a corkscrew shoved into his eye. Either or. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Alfred catches his breath, finally, wiping away tears as he slumps over the table. “Jesus fucking Christ--this is so fucked,” he says, voice strained, “I really thought you’d just scream at me for a little bit and I could go back to forgetting about this shit--”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Ludwig squirms in his seat, “We could--we </span>
  <em>
    <span>could </span>
  </em>
  <span>just forget about it. If you want to--”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, no. Fuck no,” Alfred says, jabbing a finger in his direction, “It’s been a fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>decade</span>
  </em>
  <span>, dude. We’re dealing with this.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>And then, the gears seem to turn in Alfred’s head. He glances towards the living room, and then back at Ludwig. “Wait. You said Feliciano knows? Like, about what we’re talking about right now?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“And you invited us over, and the rest of them went out for drinks...so it’s just--” Alfred squints, “Were you--oh my God--dude, were you </span>
  <em>
    <span>trying </span>
  </em>
  <span>to fuck me?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Ludwig sputters. For the sake of being honest with himself, yes, he was, but definitely not </span>
  <em>
    <span>tonight</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Ludwig assumed it would be something they planned--something they</span>
  <em>
    <span> scheduled</span>
  </em>
  <span>--if, you know,  if anything </span>
  <em>
    <span>actually </span>
  </em>
  <span>happened. Which, up until about fifteen minutes ago, Ludwig was sure nothing would. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“This wasn’t--I was just--” Ludwig stammers, “This set-up wasn’t intentional--”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You </span>
  <em>
    <span>were</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Alfred slams a fist on the table, “You </span>
  <em>
    <span>were</span>
  </em>
  <span> trying to fuck me!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I--not </span>
  <em>
    <span>tonight</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Ludwig counters, “Alfred, you know me--I’m not that spontaneous--”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Not usually, no,” Alfred says, crossing his arms, “But you also sent out that invitation email at three a.m.--less than three days before our meeting. That’s like, maximum spontaneity from you, dude. You don’t even respond to my texts that late, even if I </span>
  <em>
    <span>know</span>
  </em>
  <span> you’re up. Also, the statement still stands. You </span>
  <em>
    <span>are </span>
  </em>
  <span>trying to fuck me, even if it wasn’t supposed to be tonight.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Quit acting like this is some courtroom drama,” Ludwig says, flustered, pointing </span>
  <em>
    <span>his </span>
  </em>
  <span>finger in Alfred’s direction, “You make it sound so crude. I’m not trying to pressure you into anything, for God’s sake--I wasn’t even--I don’t know if I’m even capable--”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay, well, what if I said </span>
  <em>
    <span>I </span>
  </em>
  <span>wanted to?” Alfred says, “Like, tonight. What if I said I wanted to just get this shit over with </span>
  <em>
    <span>tonight</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I--” Ludwig looks rattled, “Well, I--”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I mean, you said it yourself,” Alfred says, attempting to sound cocky despite the reddening of his face, “It’s just you, me, and Feliciano here tonight. And if Feliciano knows--”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The front door clicks shut. Ludwig can hear the familiar shuffle of Feliciano’s houseshoes down the hall. There was still time, Ludwig thinks, feeling the nervous sweat building on his forehead, to deny everything and run away screaming from this situation. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey, sorry that took me so long--whoa,” Feliciano pauses in the doorway, “What’s going on? You both look like you’ve been holding your breath since I left.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Ludwig says nothing. Alfred glares at him.  </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Lud told me.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh,” Feliciano says, “Huh. Didn’t think he had it in him. Kinda figured I wouldn’t, uh, have to deal with, you know,” he gestures to the two, “This.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He glances between Alfred and Ludwig a few times, and then shrugs before pouring himself another glass of wine. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Alfred </span>
  <em>
    <span>also</span>
  </em>
  <span> told me,” Ludwig says, quietly, “That he feels--similarly.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Feliciano fumbles the bottle of wine as if startled, and a small amount spills onto the countertop. He’s facing away from them, but Ludwig can see his shoulders tense. He sets the bottle down slowly, takes a drink, and then turns, looking at Ludwig.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh,” he says, “Shit.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Shit’s a bit of an understatement, Ludwig thinks, but he supposes it’ll do. Poor Feliciano. He really didn’t deserve this. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“So, is this happening then? Like,” Feliciano mimes something vulgar while gesturing to the three of them, “I mean, my one condition to this happening is that I’m not left out, so, if you two have plans--I’m down. Seems like tonight would be a good night to do it.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“See, Lud,” Alfred says, “He gets it.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Feliciano gives him another look, “Actually, I’ve got another one. Whatever diagram Lud’s got planned out for this in his head--it better not involve </span>
  <em>
    <span>us</span>
  </em>
  <span> doing anything. To like. Each other. No offense, Alfred.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“None taken,” Alfred shrugs.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I--isn’t this moving too fast?” Ludwig says, meekly, “Alfred’s going to be in town for a few days--”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Feliciano wraps an arm around his shoulders, and leans down to whisper into Ludwig’s ear, “You’re the one who asked for this, </span>
  <em>
    <span>caro</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Don’t make me change my mind.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Ludwig shivers. Feliciano’s fingers tap gently against his back. He smiles. Despite the context of this </span>
  <em>
    <span>entire</span>
  </em>
  <span> conversation, Alfred looks scandalized. “Man, you guys are gross,” he says, “Lud’s pretty easy to work up, huh? That was like, nothing, and I’m pretty sure he’s like, rock-hard right now--”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh yeah, he’s horrible,” Feliciano says, dragging a hand across the back of Ludwig’s neck, “That’s why I’m surprised we’re here. Figured he’d lose it before he even got the words out.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>I’m right here,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Ludwig mutters.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“We know,” the two of them reply in unison. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Well. Ludwig couldn’t say he didn’t ask for this. He did in fact ask for this. And he sort of...liked it? Horrible. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“So, uh,” Alfred says, “Should I--shower or something? Before we get into it? Or...what’s the game plan, here?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Sure! I’ll show you to the guest bathroom--wait, you probably already know where it is, huh--”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Sure do,” Alfred says, as if they’re just talking about the weather, “I’ve got some old shirts in the closet here too, if I’m not wrong--”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>There was something funny about the fact Feliciano seemed to be mediating this situation. But then again, Ludwig was sure they’d still be yelling back and forth at each other in the kitchen if he hadn’t come back when he did. Alfred shuffles off down the hall. There’s a moment of silence between Ludwig and Feliciano. And then Feliciano chuckles, and pulls him from the chair. “Let’s go clean up, huh?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>They head to the master bathroom together. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I can’t believe you actually told him,” Feliciano says, while undressing, “Kind of proud of you. Is that the right word for this situation?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t think it is,” Ludwig says, “But I appreciate the...is </span>
  <em>
    <span>support</span>
  </em>
  <span> the right word?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Feliciano laughs, “Sure. Listen--I’m not just doing this because </span>
  <em>
    <span>you </span>
  </em>
  <span>want to. Maybe it’ll be interesting. I mean, we’re pretty monogamous for nations. I don’t see either of us deviating from that any time soon, so…”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Interesting,” Ludwig repeats, “Right.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Also, Alfred’s nice,” Feliciano says, turning the shower on, “And he won’t be weird about it afterwards. </span>
  <em>
    <span>And </span>
  </em>
  <span>I don’t have to worry about you running off with him--”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Ludwig rolls his eyes. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>xxx</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>They’re sitting in the master bedroom together. Feliciano, opting to stay naked rather than get dressed again, is sitting on the bed, covered only by a towel. Ludwig sits beside him, clad in his usual pajamas, a pair of boxers and a black t-shirt. Across from them on the armchair in the corner is Alfred. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The only clothes of his left in the guest room were a bit dated. He’s wearing a loose pair of sweatpants and a cropped sweatshirt that Ludwig recognizes. He’s seen Alfred lounge in it before, drinking cheap beer on his couch while listening to AFN Berlin, sweatpants sagging low enough to see blond hairs trickling down his stomach. At the time, Ludwig brushed aside his lingering interest, chalking it up to not having seen Feliciano in quite some time. Now? Well. Ludwig’s throat feels dry.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He realizes he’s been staring for far too long when Feliciano clears his throat. Alfred jumps. “Are you two just going to stare at each other all night?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey, he started it,” Alfred pouts, “Man, do you pick your shirts to be too small on purpose?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Ludwig glances down, “I--no? I think they fit just fine--”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah? I can see the outline of your fucking aerolas, dude--”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay,” Feliciano holds up a hand, “This is going nowhere. Someone has to make the first move or you two are going to keep bickering all night. Lud, sit back on the bed--”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Ludwig complies, as per usual. Feliciano tosses the towel to the floor, and straddles his lap. “I think,” Feliciano says, “It would be helpful to Alfred if we set the mood. Right?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“R-Right,” Ludwig stammers, as Feliciano presses against him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He glances at the armchair. Alfred’s turning pink again, but his eyes are fixated on the both of them. He gulps, and leans back into his seat. “I’ll just--yeah, uh--I’ll just, um. Join in when you need me,” Alfred says, a high-pitched chuckle escaping his lips, “No rush.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Feliciano grabs Ludwig by the chin, and kisses him. He </span>
  <em>
    <span>was</span>
  </em>
  <span> always the better kisser, Ludwig thinks, humming into the kiss as Feliciano slips his tongue in. His hands rest on Feliciano’s hips, pulling him closer. He can feel Feliciano’s lips curve into a smile against his. And then, he moves to Ludwig’s neck, planting wet kisses and stopping to pay particular attention to a spot in between his neck and shoulders. Feliciano’s hands trickle down his chest, brushing against his pectorals and abdomen, before resting in his lap.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Ludwig sighs contentedly, leaning against Feliciano’s head, breathing in the smell of his shampoo. His hands, large, warm, and calloused, run up and down Feliciano’s spine. Feliciano shivers against him. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Peering up from Feliciano’s shoulder, he makes eye contact with Alfred, and then, Alfred’s  sweatpants. Hm. He was one to talk about Ludwig’s choice in shirts.Those certainly weren’t hiding anything either. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>And then--Alfred palms himself--and suddenly Ludwig is all too aware that this is real, and not some hormone driven daydream he’s having in front of some terribly boring paperwork in his terribly boring office. He closes his eyes. Feliciano’s teeth rake against his shoulder. The warmth pools in his stomach. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Touch me,” Feliciano says, his breath hot against Ludwig’s ear.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Ludwig doesn’t need to be told twice. His hand wraps around Feliciano’s cock, thumb grazing along it’s head. He’s already semi-hard. Feliciano bites his lip, rolling his hips against Ludwig. “Do </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> have a plan, </span>
  <em>
    <span>schatzi</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” Ludwig whispers back, “You seem rather keen on ordering me around.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Feliciano chuckles, and then gasps when Ludwig’s grip tightens, “You </span>
  <em>
    <span>like </span>
  </em>
  <span>when I boss you around, Lud. I’m just being helpful. Giving Alfred a good idea of what he’s in for.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He kisses Ludwig again, bringing his hands to the waistband of Ludwig’s boxers. His thin, tanned fingers slip beneath the elastic. “I think you should take these off,” Feliciano says.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ludwig nods, wordlessly. Feliciano lifts himself off of Ludwig’s lap long enough to tug the boxers off and toss them aside. He hadn’t noticed how tight the boxers were until being freed from them. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Huh. He had almost forgotten about Alfred--but there he was, biting his lip, eyes focused on Ludwig’s lap, face flushed. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Oh</span>
  </em>
  <span>. That was. Something. A good something, Ludwig decides, feeling that warmth in the pit of his stomach boil over. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re the odd one out now,” Feliciano says, settling back down on Ludwig’s lap.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Alfred’s eyebrows furrow, but he nods, wordlessly, and slips a hand under his waistband. It isn’t until Alfred’s cock emerges from his sweatpants that Ludwig realizes he’s been holding his breath. It hitches. Feliciano notices, and shoots him a look before wrapping a hand around both of their members. “I have an idea,” he murmurs, lips pressed against the nape of his neck, “But you can tell me if you’d rather do something else, okay, </span>
  <em>
    <span>tesoro</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Ludwig’s fingers dig into Feliciano’s hips, eyes fixated across the room, “Ah--what is it?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He licks his lips, stroking slowly, “I’d like to be on top this time.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>This wouldn’t be the first time he’d done so, but Ludwig always blushes as if it is whenever he suggests it. “O-Oh?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Mmhm,” Feliciano says, “You can set a good example for him. And I won’t be in the middle.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>This was worth it if only to watch the way Alfred’s eyebrows raised at that, Ludwig thinks. They really hadn’t discussed who would be doing what, had they? But Feliciano is right. It </span>
  <em>
    <span>would </span>
  </em>
  <span>make the most sense. Ludwig can’t linger on the thought of that too long--wouldn’t want to preemptively end the evening--</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span> Ludwig agrees with a quick nod, and Feliciano smiles back at him, leaning over to slide open the nightstand drawer for the bottle of lube. They’ve done this hundreds of times, Ludwig thinks, as he watches Feliciano slick his fingers, but it captivates him all the same. Feliciano’s other hand rests on Ludwig’s inner thigh, spreading his legs wide. His eyes dart up to meet Ludwig’s just as he brings a finger to his entrance, and he smirks. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Oh.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Ludwig hated that smirk of his in the best way. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Slowly, slowly, Feliciano presses a finger inside, twisting and turning and--oh, </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>--his breath catches when Feliciano slips a second one inside. His legs tremble at the feeling. Feliciano digs his nails further into the soft skin of his thigh. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Oh,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” he sighs, tilting his head as if he’s appreciating the view, “Oh, Ludwig.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Feliciano leans in to kiss him, slowly. He could melt, Ludwig thinks, giving way to the creeping brain-fog Feliciano often cast over him. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Are you ready?” Feliciano whispers, loud enough for Alfred to hear.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He stretches his fingers, pressing deep. Ludwig’s back arches involuntarily, and a whimper escapes from his throat. Through half-lidded eyes, he sees Alfred hastily kick off his sweatpants and pull his sweatshirt over his head, one-handed. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, </span>
  <em>
    <span>sei il</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span> mio tutto,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” </span>
  <span>Feliciano brings his face in close, hot-breath tickling Ludwig’s nose, “You’re so cute. Should we let him get a closer look?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He doesn’t wait for an answer, and neither does Alfred, much to his surprise. The mattress sinks beside him, and Alfred is there, glasses askew. He must not have fixed them in his haste. Ludwig almost laughs, but then Feliciano slides his fingers out, and back in, and he gasps--</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Feliciano presses a kiss to his thigh before removing his fingers completely. Ludwig’s eyes flutter closed. There’s a familiar snap-pop, followed by a wet, slicking noise. He steadies his breathing. Alfred isn’t touching him, but if Ludwig reached out, he could be. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He </span>
  <em>
    <span>should</span>
  </em>
  <span> be, Ludwig thinks, hazily, mind wandering to a time not long ago when he watched Alfred tinker in his garage, hands coated in grease, face dirtied. He was always a hands-on learner. How was </span>
  <em>
    <span>this</span>
  </em>
  <span> any different? </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>His eyes open again to meet Feliciano’s, who smiles, and lines himself up against Ludwig without a word, and then--</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It’s impulsive, Ludwig knows, and uncharacteristically bold, but he reaches out and grabs Alfred by the back of the neck, forcing their lips together. Alfred makes a noise of surprise, almost thrown off balance by the sudden jerk downwards. Feliciano pushes himself inside, slowly, tenderly, as though Ludwig could shatter at any moment--and Ludwig moans against Alfred’s mouth. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Alfred sounds breathless, pulling away from Ludwig as best as he can, “Jesus, you could’ve warned me--”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Ludwig bites back another moan as Feliciano begins moving. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Scheiße</span>
  </em>
  <span>--A-Alfred, shut </span>
  <em>
    <span>up--”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He yanks him back down, tangling his fingers in Alfred’s hair. This time, Alfred kisses him back. It’s sloppy, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>wet</span>
  </em>
  <span>--Ludwig is sure he doesn’t have much experience. He supposes there’s a certain boyish charm to that, and what is Alfred if not an endless supply of boyish charm?</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He sneaks a glance at Feliciano--his eyes are half-lidded, mouth open, breathing heavily--watching the two of them as he thrusts, hands digging into Ludwig. Someone was far more interested in this than he led on, Ludwig thinks, making a point to meet eyes with Feliciano as if to say, “You </span>
  <em>
    <span>pervert</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Message received. Feliciano chuckles, and then--he pulls out completely--catching his breath. “Sit up,” Feliciano says, “Against the headboard, so he can get a better angle.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A better--</span>
  <em>
    <span>oh</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Oh. It hasn’t dawned on Alfred yet, who looks at Feliciano like he’s grown a second head. Ludwig complies, shoving a pillow against his back. “Stand on your knees,” Feliciano gestures to Alfred, “That, um--that should--work.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Alfred blinks, but does as he’s told, kneeling on the bed with one hand on the headboard to steady himself. It takes until he glances down at Ludwig to realize what Feliciano is setting up. Ludwig stares back up at him, if only to avoid staring at Alfred’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>very</span>
  </em>
  <span> erect dick, inches away from his face. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Feliciano, for what it's worth, at least has the decency to look sheepish, “I--I’ll get back to--um--what </span>
  <em>
    <span>I </span>
  </em>
  <span>was doing--”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Alfred looks as if he’s blown a gasket, but Feliciano moves on, carefully repositioning himself against Ludwig’s entrance before pushing in again, slowly. It’s a bit too much to process for Ludwig, who’s eyes clench shut, stomach muscles tightening at the pressure.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>When he opens them again, he’s greeted by Alfred’s dick, held up so closely to Ludwig’s mouth that he might have brushed against it accidentally. The expression on his face is interesting--eyebrows furrowed, cheeks flushed, lips parted, glasses nearly falling off--and he looks as if he might say something, ask something, but he doesn’t.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Ludwig rolls his eyes (a feat, when you consider the fact he was very much so being fucked </span>
  <em>
    <span>thoroughly</span>
  </em>
  <span> by Feliciano) and tilts his chin, parting his own lips. Alfred’s mouth thins to a line, but he brings himself closer, resting his dick against Ludwig’s mouth. Ludwig’s tongue drags across the tip, purposefully, staring at Alfred, who shivers, breath hitching, as his hand trembles in anticipation. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“He’s pretty good at that,” Feliciano says, between gasps, “I mean, it’s one of his favorite things to do to me. Isn’t that right, Lud?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Absolutely unhelpful and unnecessary information.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Ludwig groans, trying </span>
  <em>
    <span>so</span>
  </em>
  <span> terribly hard not to react to Feliciano’s praise. His dick, aching and knocking against his stomach, reacts otherwise. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Dammit.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Alfred laughs nervously, “Uh--th-thanks for the heads u--</span>
  <em>
    <span>oh my fucking god--”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Ludwig’s mouth is completely around him, then, without warning, sucking and trailing his tongue along veins. Alfred shutters, fingers brushing against Ludwig’s chin as he pushes further into his mouth, “You really--you </span>
  <em>
    <span>really</span>
  </em>
  <span> need to warn me next time,” Alfred grumbles, “Quit messing with me--this is already--I’m already at my limit here, Lud--”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Ludwig quirks an eyebrow at that, and hums against him, before dragging his teeth across sensitive skin. Alfred yelps, jerking into his mouth involuntarily. “I said--” Alfred’s cheeks puff, and his fingers lace into Ludwig’s gelled down hair, “Q-Quit it.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He shoves Ludwig’s head forward. Ludwig almost chokes--had he not been more experienced, he almost certainly would have. Feliciano stops thrusting, but not out of concern. Fascination? Voyeurism? Jealousy? Ludwig’s not entirely sure--nor can he focus on that right now. He feels him pull out completely, and move in a little closer, grabbing Ludwig in his hand--there’s a squeeze. Feliciano’s delicate hand grips him at the base of his cock. He groans, deep down in his throat, spit dripping down his chin. Alfred shoves him forward again--and again--they lock eyes. Alfred’s--smiling? The </span>
  <em>
    <span>bastard--</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Feliciano leans in, as close to his ear as he can get, “You’re so beautiful--I love you so much, Ludwig--”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Only </span>
  <em>
    <span>he </span>
  </em>
  <span>could get away with saying that when Ludwig is centimeters away, choking on someone else’s dick. He hums, eyebrows furrowing in concentration as Feliciano strokes, and Alfred yanks him away before pulling him in again--</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>And then--once Ludwig’s face is wet with spit, Alfred pulls away. Ludwig coughs, gasping to catch his breath. “Maybe we should--m-move on,” he stammers, sitting back onto the bed.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>There’s pre-cum on the top of his dick, Ludwig notices. Apparently the blowjob was </span>
  <em>
    <span>too</span>
  </em>
  <span> good. Feliciano tilts his head, “What d’you have in mind?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Alfred bites his lip. “Would you--uh--”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m not doing anything unless you say it,” Ludwig says, voice hoarse, “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Asshole</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Feliciano lets go of his dick and elbows him, “Lud. Be nice. He’s trying. Go on, Alfred.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You can’t be mad at me for doing something I </span>
  <em>
    <span>know</span>
  </em>
  <span> you wanted me to do,” Alfred objects, “And--you know what I’m going to say--so--”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Ludwig shrugs, “Haven’t a clue.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Ludwig Beilschmidt, </span>
  <em>
    <span>please</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Feliciano says, “Or </span>
  <em>
    <span>I </span>
  </em>
  <span>won’t be nice to you either.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Not exactly a deterrent, but he supposes Feliciano knows that. Ludwig sighs, running a hand through his now-messy hair. “Fine. Lay down,” he says, swallowing, “Near the edge of the bed. On your back.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Feliciano gets up off of the mattress, helping Ludwig stand, while Alfred complies--he snatches the pillow Ludwig was using earlier, and props his head up, laying flat on his back. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Ludwig looms over him. It’s probably intimidating, because Ludwig can’t focus on making a facial expression that isn’t strained and a touch homicidal when he’s this hard. Feliciano lays a hand on his arm, “I’ll just watch for a second, until you two get comfortable.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He plops down in the armchair, lazily stroking himself as he watches them. Ludwig suddenly realizes this is the first time Feliciano has left his side this evening. He glances behind him. Feliciano winks. Jesus.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Ludwig is still wearing his shirt. There are wet spots, from earlier, scattered along the top half. Alfred seems to notice him staring at it. “Just take it off, dude,” he says, “I’ve seen everything else.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He watches, intently, as Ludwig removes his shirt. Ludwig can feel his eyes traveling up from his pelvis to his pectorals, and Alfred’s mutual physical attraction to him hits him like a ton of bricks. The warmth boils over again. He leans down. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m going to be blunt about this,” Ludwig says, voice low, “And I need you to answer me, truthfully. Do you understand?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Alfred nods, a bit too quickly. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Have you been penetrated before?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Sort of,” Alfred mutters, “Not--not by a person. Just, um--a t-toy. I mean--it was </span>
  <em>
    <span>with </span>
  </em>
  <span>a person, but--uh. Oh. And uh. Fingers.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Ludwig’s surprised, “Wait--who?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Nat,” Alfred says, softly, “Um. A few times. We’re not--serious. For. Obvious reasons.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Ludwig makes a mental note to question him about </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> later, “If it’s uncomfortable, how will you let me know?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Think I can just </span>
  <em>
    <span>tell </span>
  </em>
  <span>you,” Alfred says, squirming beneath his gaze.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Ludwig can definitely believe that. He nods, “Do you want me to use protection?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Alfred turns red, “Uh--I--I mean, it’s fine if you don’t. It’s not like we aren’t clean.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“But do you prefer it?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I--” he squirms again, “</span>
  <em>
    <span>No</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Can we get on with this, </span>
  <em>
    <span>please</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Ludwig has to clench his eyes shut to prevent himself from short circuiting over Alfred’s answer. His hand rests, almost hovering, on Alfred’s thigh. “You can bring them up, against yourself, if that’s comfortable,” he says, “Or--”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He tilts his head against his shoulder. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Alfred swallows, staring up at Ludwig over his glasses. And then, he quips, “Damn, do you always sound like you’re about to give someone a colonoscopy when you do this?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes,” Feliciano says, from behind them, “I think it’s cute. He’s such a worrier.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Cute,” Alfred repeats, tilting his head down, “Guess that’s one word for it.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I--nggh,” Ludwig grunts, and yanks Alfred’s legs, one at a time, onto his shoulders, “Both of you need to shut up.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He reaches down, leaning forward, hips brushing against Alfred, and wraps his hand around Alfred’s cock. He strokes, slowly, deliberately, as if lost in concentration on the task in front of him. Alfred jolts, hips bucking himself forward into Ludwig’s hand. They build up a steady rhythm, Ludwig’s wrist flick-twisting as Alfred strains upwards into his grasp. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Oh. It was one thing, Ludwig thinks, to imagine this--when he did, it was never a concrete scenario. There were parts, sure, that Ludwig fixated on more than others--the thought of Alfred, lying back on his couch, the radio playing in the background, sweatpants pooled around his ankles--the two of them in a deserted hallway after a meeting, pressing against each other, Ludwig grinding him into the wall in frustration--but Ludwig’s urge to repress meant any fantasies faded out rather quickly into a general horny brain fog. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It was another thing altogether to be doing it, obviously. Ludwig found himself unable to look away from Alfred’s flushed face, pink and thrown back against Ludwig’s pillow. It was amazing his glasses were still on--perhaps that was on purpose. He wasn’t entirely sure how well Alfred could see without them on. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Ludwig reaches a free hand over to the nightstand for the lube, eyes never leaving Alfred. There’s a moment, very briefly, where he needs both hands to apply the lube, and Alfred </span>
  <em>
    <span>whines</span>
  </em>
  <span> at the sudden lack of warmth--but then Ludwig is back, swiping a thumb across the wetness pooling on Alfred’s head as if to apologize. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Let me know if it hurts,” Ludwig says, bringing the first finger, carefully, hesitantly, to Alfred’s entrance, “I’ll go slowly.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I--</span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Alfred bites his lip, “If you--I’m about to--”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The first one slides in, and Alfred gasps--Ludwig hopes the burn-stretch is enough to stave off Alfred, but not enough that it’s unbearable. Without thinking, (most likely because he’s done this a million times with Feliciano) he bends forward and kisses him, breath tickling Alfred’s nose as he murmurs, “Good?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He twists his finger. Alfred writhes underneath him, too embarrassed to moan with Ludwig this close to his face, “Fuck you--yeah, it’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>good</span>
  </em>
  <span>--what kind of--</span>
  <em>
    <span>ah</span>
  </em>
  <span>--question is th--”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Purely out of spite, Ludwig takes that moment to slide a second finger in. This time, Alfred can’t hold the moan back--he nearly knocks into Ludwig’s forehead. Ludwig chuckles at that despite himself, and leans back far enough to press his lips against Alfred’s thigh. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>This time, Alfred matches the rhythm, rocking himself back onto Ludwig’s fingers. It’s almost cute--though Ludwig was sure saying that would piss him off--hair mussed, cheeks red, overwhelmed by Ludwig’s touch, eyebrows furrowed as if he was frustrated by how close he was to finishing. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>His fingers scissor once he feels Alfred loosening. Alfred grips the sheets, and Ludwig slides the last finger in. “Oh </span>
  <em>
    <span>God</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Alfred sounds out of breath, “Can’t you just--can you--”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Ludwig stops stroking him, fingers still sliding in and out steadily, and leans down once more, “Are you sure?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Yes, </span>
  </em>
  <span>I’m fucking sure--</span>
  <em>
    <span>ah</span>
  </em>
  <span>--” Alfred grabs his arm, nails digging into skin, “I’m already--listen, I could’ve asked to top--</span>
  <em>
    <span>the least you can do is get on with it--</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m with Alfred on this one. You do take forever,” Feliciano says, still toying with himself on the armchair, “Think he just likes the view sometimes.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Feliciano is one to talk. But Ludwig does take a moment to appreciate what’s in front of him--Alfred, on his back, legs up in the air, nearly fucking himself on Ludwig’s hand--but they’re right. He can’t take waiting anymore either. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He slides his fingers out and Alfred groans, watching Ludwig stroke himself with more lube. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Shit,” Alfred says, laying back on the pillow to catch his breath, “I’m literally never going to say this seriously to you ever again, so you better appreciate it--but you’re so fucking hot, dude. It’s unreal.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Ludwig feels his ears burn with embarrassment and knows his face has gone red. “I--uh,” it’s a good thing he’s got his </span>
  <em>
    <span>own</span>
  </em>
  <span> dick in his hand, because the grip force on it is immeasurable, “Thank...you?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“No prob,” Alfred’s still out of breath, “God--hurry up, man--think you’re good--”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You think so?” Ludwig mumbles, amused, but compiles, positioning himself against Alfred, one hand holding his leg, the other on his dick. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Yes</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Alfred snaps, “Jesus, what do I have to say? Fuck me, you stupid Kra--”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Ludwig penetrates him before he can finish his sentence, shoving inside far more haphazardly than he had when preparing him--but he doesn’t move, letting Alfred adjust. His hands tremble, gripping Alfred’s legs before falling forward onto the mattress, propping himself up. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Wow. Alfred’s a quick learner, huh,” Feliciano says, blithely, “Took me like, </span>
  <em>
    <span>months</span>
  </em>
  <span> before I figured out you gotta just be mean to him sometimes.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Sh-shut up,” Ludwig breathes, pulling back slowly, “For the record, I think that’s a ridiculous insult--”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Mngh--</span>
  <em>
    <span>move</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Alfred says, voice strained, “Or--Or I’ll think of something worse to call you--”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It’s an empty threat--Alfred is far too focused to care--but Ludwig starts to move in shallow, even thrusts anyway. Alfred bites his lip, and reaches for his dick, stroking it in time with Ludwig’s thrusts.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Before Ludwig can pick up the pace, Feliciano is behind him. He places a hand on his hips, and one on his back, “Can you bend down a bit more, </span>
  <em>
    <span>caro</span>
  </em>
  <span>? So I can reach you?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Ludwig’s reaction to this can only be described with a stream of expletives. The tiny workers inside the filing cabinet of his brain are burning while simultaneously setting off fireworks in the shape of Feliciano’s face. It’s all very confusing.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He shutters and places his elbows on the mattress, burying himself deep, unintentionally, in Alfred. His legs tremble--Alfred’s legs cling to his shoulders. Feliciano doesn’t bother sliding a finger in to prepare him again, and yanks him backwards (to...the best of Feliciano’s ability, of course) onto his dick, fingers digging into Ludwig’s hips. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Ludwig hisses, and almost slumps forward onto Alfred. Poor Alfred--Ludwig worries he’s crushing him--but the closeness can’t be that bad, because Alfred reaches up and grabs a handful of Ludwig’s hair. Feliciano brings a hand to the back of his neck, bending him further over the bed, and Ludwig tries his best to resume the steady rhythm he had before. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It’s difficult, now, because each time he brings himself back, he’s fucking himself on Feliciano, and each time he brings himself forward, he’s buried further into Alfred. It’s too much. His hips keep bucking on their own, hitting against skin erratically.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re so good,” Feliciano plants a kiss on his back, “So, so good.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Low, guttural noises from Alfred are ringing in his ear. His grip on Ludwig’s hair tightens, and they bump noses before Alfred pulls him into another sloppy kiss. This time, Ludwig moans against his mouth. It’s embarrassing--he’s not a particularly vocal partner on a good day--but he can’t hold it in this time. Feliciano chuckles breathlessly against his back.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Alfred’s still frantically jerking himself off with his other hand. Impatient. That’s not a surprise.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>At the same time, Feliciano bucks into him, hard, and it must have made Ludwig hit something in Alfred, because he yelps, throwing his head back into the pillow. He pulls Ludwig in close, so close that he can feel the hot, wet fluid splatter across his abdomen. His glasses finally fall from his face, knocked aside onto the mattress. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Can I--” Ludwig swallows, “Can I keep--”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Alfred nods between hard swallows and gasps for air and wraps his arms around Ludwig’s neck. Feliciano’s pace has slowed, and Ludwig knows he must be close too. He’s almost stuck to Ludwig’s back, hands gripping him tightly. Ludwig feels his lips move on his skin, and something mumbled falls out of his mouth. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Sei il...grande amor</span>
  </em>
  <span>e..something, something--you know, Ludwig’s Italian was never great, but he gets the gist--</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>And then Feliciano slumps, and pulls out slowly, still holding him close, so close--and something about the warmth trickling down his thighs pushes him to the brink--it’s too much, far too much--</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Ludwig chokes, thrusting into Alfred for the final time--his body groans, and his vision blurs--and there’s something so wonderful about the </span>
  <em>
    <span>moan</span>
  </em>
  <span> from Alfred as he finishes inside him--</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He pulls out, just long enough for Alfred to drop his legs, and then collapses beside him on the mattress, face up. Feliciano falls on top of him, a sloppy grin plastered on his face as he clings to him, hot and covered in sweat.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>There’s nothing but the sound of the three of them catching their breath, and a giggle here or there from Feliciano. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Alfred breaks the silence first, “So.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“So,” Ludwig repeats.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“That was,” Alfred pauses, choosing his words carefully, “Something.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Ludwig hums, clumsily running a hand through Feliciano’s hair, “It was.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I mean, I had a good time,” Feliciano murmurs against Ludwig’s chest, “Pre-e-etty sure you guys did too.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Alfred pats the mattress for his glasses, “God. Can’t feel my fucking legs.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“M’sorry,” Ludwig mumbles.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“No, no, it’s--uh,” he finds them, sliding them onto the bridge of his nose, “It’s fine.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>They’re silent again. This time, Feliciano breaks it. “So...d’you think you’ve gotten it out of your system?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He blinks up at Ludwig, who’s busy rubbing at his forehead. Ludwig blinks back, and then slaps a hand over his eyes. His mouth quirks, as if he’s trying to hold back a laugh, or keep himself from crying. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I-I don’t know,” Ludwig says, and then groans, “Oh my god, this was a mistake--”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Alfred sputters, “Dude, shut up--we just--it </span>
  <em>
    <span>just </span>
  </em>
  <span>happened--I’m sure I’ll go back to thinking you’re fucking gross after I’m done hosing you out of my ass--”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Ew.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Ludwig groans again, “Don’t--don’t phrase it like that--”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, Lud probably thinks it's hot,” Feliciano says, yawning, “He’s gross like that.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Good, more of reason to never want to fuck him again,” Alfred says, throwing his hands up in the air, weakly, “He’s a pervert.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Again--I am right here.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“We know.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He </span>
  <em>
    <span>did </span>
  </em>
  <span>ask for this, Ludwig reminds himself for what seems like the hundredth time that evening. “God--you’re lucky I don’t have the energy to strangle you both.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Feliciano sighs wistfully, “Well, there’s always next time--”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I--There is </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>a next time---”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>xxxx</span>
</p>
<p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This has been haunting MY brain for fucking years and I finally caved due to the fucking quarantine hell we're living in and just wrote it. It plagues me. I hope you enjoyed it. Almost 10k of wordy explanatory porn so I can properly set up the circumstances I would be ok with this happening under, lmfao. Can you tell Lud is my favorite character?</p>
<p> I will absolutely not be posting it to my main or speaking about it with anyone, but I do write other fic on here, and I WILL be posting a rather large fic sometime on a side acct. It's about Lud and the 1980s--there are lots of Lud and Alfred scenes, but they do not fuck in it. I'm very sorry. It's actually got Romerica in it? (I'm sorry to Lovino, actually, for writing this) I'm usually a very rigid Gerita shipper, but, again, haunted by this concept!!! Plagued!! I just think maybe it's fine if they think the other is hot and have no idea how to deal with that other than, you know, weird friendship fucking, and then never speaking about it again. Like I will. </p>
<p>Thank you for reading! :^)</p></blockquote></div></div>
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